From the Embers
by Fallon-Idalia
Summary: Exiled from her homeland, Míriedis expected to spend the long years of her life alone. But when an old friend offers her a chance to make right a past wrong, she reluctantly joins his strange company. Surrounded by dwarves, she never expected to find friendship, let alone anything more. After her failure, she didn't think she deserved it. A certain archer couldn't disagree more.
1. Prologue

*****Disclaimer:** I do not own any aspect of the marvellous world J.R.R. Tolkien created in 'The Hobbit' and 'the Lord of the Rings' or the film adaptations created by Peter Jackson. I am merely playing with the world they brought to life through book and film. I have tried to stay true to what they created. That being said, I have made changes to the world and its characters for the purposes of this story. Characters have been created specifically for this story. The new face you see in this story, Míriedis is mine.

This story will contain scenes of a mature nature; including but not limited to gore, violence, sex, and torture. Please consider yourselves warned. It also (obviously) contains an OC – an original character. If that is not something you typically like, please keep that in mind as you progress. That being said I have worked very hard to seamlessly integrate (as much as possible) her and all others into the world of Middle Earth.

*****English chunks of dialogue written in italics are actually being spoken in elvish.*****

I hope you enjoy what I've come up with! Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated! Thank you kindly for reading! – Fallon.

**~Prologue~**

**_T.A. 2755_**

She walked in silence alongside her kin, trying hard not to let her discomfort show as she passed through the elaborately carved stone gates of Erebor and the ancient stone blocked out the clear early morning sky.

As soon as the sky passed from sight she felt an ache bloom in her heart and she longed for it.

The stone was suffocating and she feared it would come crashing down around her at any moment. She wanted the clear blue sky back above her head and the canopy of gold and green leaves of her homeland around her.

She wanted to be with her brothers.

A pout twitched upon her lips, appearing only briefly until her better sense willed it away before her father could see.

She was the Princess of Mirkwood; she would go where her father willed her…regardless of how unpleasant the destination.

The corridor they were being lead down ended at a pair of tall golden doors that opened up to a massive audience chamber. The higher ceilings eased some of her worries, but as her company approached the throne of the King of Erebor, entirely new ones arose.

This was the first time her father had trusted her on a diplomatic meeting of such importance. The dwarven city was vastly wealthy, or so her father had claimed, and their armies were well known as fearsome. Their continued friendship was vital if Mirkwood was to ever reclaim its lost beauty.

She looked to her father, who led their party with his head held high, his crown of twisted branches and deep crimson leaves perched high upon his brow, and nerves bubbled in her stomach.

She swallowed hard and whispered prayers to the Valar that she would not shame him this day.

"Welcome, Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, to the Halls of Erebor." A finely dressed dwarf announced at the base of the thrones' steps as they neared. "You stand before King Thror, son of Dain; mightiest of all Dwarf Lords and King under the Mountain."

Much to her surprise, her father bowed to the dwarven king.

"It is an honour to see the beauty of your halls with my own eyes, your majesty." He stood tall yet again and met the gaze of the grey-bearded dwarf on the throne, "The tales do not do them justice."

She risked a questioning glance at her father. He was always difficult to read but she was sure he must be exaggerating, feigning awe to please their host. She looked around them. Yes the hall was grand, every inch of it covered in carvings and statues of gold crafted with loving detail. But surely it was not beautiful, she thought, not like the gentle breeze of their homeland and the soothing rustle of leaves in the wind.

The halls of Erebor possessed a cold beauty, a hard beauty.

Thror grumbled under his breath and gestured to the man standing next to him, "My son, Crown Prince Thrain." And then to a young dwarven boy standing next to the Crown Prince who was shifting on his feet as if frustrated and bored with the entire affair, "And his son, Prince Thorin."

She looked to the dwarf youngling before her.

Prince Thorin was young, how young she wasn't sure; her knowledge of the maturing of dwarves was limited, but he lacked a beard so she knew he was no adult. His jet black hair hung to his shoulders and was a tangled mess in which, even with her keen elven eyes, she could only discern a single braid from the chaos. There was a faint stubble of a beard that ran along his jawline, looking nothing like the well-groomed braided beards of those of his kin in attendance. His bright eyes were wide and joyful, clearly abounding with awe at the sight before him.

Thranduil gave a small bow to the young prince and his father, "A pleasure, your highnesses." He turned to her, reaching out his hand to bid her to come forward. "Might I present to you my daughter, Lady Míriedis, Princess of the Woodland realm."

She stepped forward reluctantly, the feeling of having all eyes upon her pressing an almost physical weight upon her shoulders that threatened to topple her. She looked up to the dwarven king, unsure of what to say and fearful of offending him, of offending her father. Westron did not flow so effortlessly from her lips as it did for her father and it had been over two hundred years since she'd last uttered a word of the strange language to anyone.

From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of the young dwarven prince. He had stepped forward, past his father, and was blatantly staring at her. He grumbled when his father tugged him back and made no attempt to conceal the pout that played upon his lips.

She was unable to suppress her smile this.

"Thank you," she said with a small, graceful bow, "for o-opening your…halls to us, your majesty."

Thror gave another deep grumble and stood from his throne, "Come, Woodland King, there was a point to this meeting, was there not?"

Confused and afraid her stumble had ruined everything, Míriedis looked up to her father, but Thranduil was already moving to accompany the dwarven king. She watched her kin follow her father out of the great hall. There had been a time when they would have awaited her leave as well, but that had been a long time ago. Her father's lack of patience for her was shared by those who feared his wroth…which was nearly everyone in court.

She felt a familiar touch fall upon her shoulder and glanced over to see that there had indeed been one who had chosen to remain behind.

"Aethor…" She spoke in a whisper, "_Should you not be by my father's side_?"

The ancient elf smiled warmly and responded in their native tongue, "_The King does not lack for warriors to guard him._" He withdrew his hand and returned to his customary stoic stance, one that respected the status difference between them, "_The Little Princess however must always be in the company of her shadow._"

A shadow was what he had been for her, a shadow and a father-figure to replace her true _ada_ who grew more and more cold and distant with the passing years. When the nightmares haunted her, Aethor was there; when she felt so low she wanted to wither away, he was there. When all sense of safety left her very soul and she wanted to scream…he was always there. She could not imagine a life without his reassuring presence trailing respectably behind her.

He was her _dúath_, her shadow.

Míriedis smiled and gave a small laugh, "_When will I outgrow that name, my friend._"

"Not while I am living, _hiril vuin_."

* * *

><p>Míriedis sat by herself on a small stone bench outside the audience chambers, Aethor preferring to keep to the side; hidden and out of the way but ready to jump in if a threat were to arise. Her father and the entirety of their company were inside with King Thror, only she and Aethor had been asked to remain outside.<p>

Aethor had told her not to take it personally, but how was she not to?

She was a princess of the Woodland realm, was she not? How could she learn all there was to know about such alliances if her father excluded her from them?

Míriedis sighed heavily.

"Are you one of the Ainur, miss?" asked a soft voice ever so timidly.

She quickly turned to face the source of the question, only to see the young dwarven prince she had first glimpsed in the throne room. She was surprised he spoke Westron so fluently and was unsure how to respond.

She shot a glance to Aethor, who was watching keenly, his thin lips quirked upwards in an amused grin.

"I am…not," she began unsteadily as she searched for the correct words in Westron, "o-one of the…Holy Ones."

Thorin gave her a skeptical look and adamantly shook his head as he took a seat next to her.

"I don't believe you," he looked up at her and smiled, "If you were one of the Ainur, I'd think you'd be quick to deny it lest bad people find out."

Míriedis laughed, "You are…decided then, prince?"

He nodded, "Don't worry though; I will keep your secret."

"You will?" Míriedis said with an exaggerated sigh of relief, "Thank the Valar! You…are far t-too kind, Prince Thorin."

"Just Thorin," he corrected, "Can I call you just Mereedis?"

She smiled; her heart lightened by his innocent mispronunciation of her name, and decided not to correct him. He was nothing like the elf younglings in Mirkwood. There was something free about him that she hadn't expected to see in someone bound to the expectations having royal blood placed upon a soul. But then maybe it was just too soon, she wondered, and that weight would bear down on him as his innocence was torn from him by the demands of duty.

Maybe he would forget what it is to smile?

Her eldest brother, the heir to their father, certainly had, Míriedis thought sadly to herself.

"Mereedis?" Thorin asked hesitantly, unsure what to think of the shroud of silence that had washed over his new friend.

"Yes," She said finally, the sound of his voice pulling her from her thoughts, "you can, Thorin."

He shot her a beaming grin and then turned his focus to the closed doors of the audience chamber, "Are you too little to go inside, too?"

Confused, Míriedis blinked quickly and looked to Aethor for clarification. Her _dúath _merely smiled and gave a shrug that said 'I am staying out of this'.

Reining in the scowl she sought to shoot back at the elf, Míriedis turned to Thorin for answers, "Too…little?"

He nodded; seemingly mystified at the puzzled look she was giving him. "Father said I am too little to be with them, said I can't go in the hall until I've got my beard." He leaned in and spoke in a whisper, "Are you waiting for your beard to grow in too, Mereedis?"

She laughed, his meaning finally becoming clear, "Oh, no, Thorin, I am an elf…I cannot grow a b-beard!"

"Why?"

Míriedis shrugged, "I simply cannot."

"Oh," Thorin said, though confusion remained evident on his face, "Well I suppose everyone can't have a beard."

"I…hardly think I am s-suited for one," she said with a laugh as she tried to imagine herself with a big scruffy beard like the ones she had seen the elder dwarves sporting in the throne room, "You though, Prince Thorin, have a f-fine beard."

Thorin beamed and brought his hands to his cheeks to proudly brush his stubble, "You think so? Father said I've started early, said he was proud. Mother wept, but said I looked handsome."

"How old are you, Thorin?" Míriedis asked, and then quickly remembered her place, "Is that…is that rude of me to ask?"

"I'm nine," he said, seemingly ignoring her question of manners, "I've got a little brother, he's only four." Thorin looked up to her, "How old are you? Do you have little brothers?"

"Two older brothers, I am the y-youngest – only one-thousand two-hundred and seventy-eight years old."

Thorin's eyes went wide, "That's so old!"

Aethor laughed from his corner.

"Not really," Míriedis smiled, "Elves live forever, and I'm still rather young by our standards."

The doors to the audience chamber opened abruptly, startling all but Aethor and bringing a sudden halt to their conversation. Míriedis did not know how her father would feel about her talking to any dwarf let alone the grandson of the King under the Mountain, and quickly turned her focus away from the young boy.

Thorin felt the scalding heat of his father's gaze fall upon him and stood, intending to go to his side before he was dragged there by his earlobe. He took a single step before stopping. Elves and dwarves were filing out of the chambers and he knew soon his new friend would be gone.

He looked back at her and gave a clumsy bow, "I'm glad to have met you, Mereedis."

His voice caught her off guard but he managed to quickly stand and offer him a hurried curtsey.

"And you, Prince Thorin."

"Just Thorin." He corrected with a smile.

Míriedis caught a glimpse of her father from the corner of her eye and it was enough to remind her that she should be proper, that she should remember her place. Thorin's happy smile, unrestrained by rank or manners, shined up at her and she found herself unable to squash the young boy's carefree heart by being cold to him now.

"It was my pleasure, Thorin."

He suddenly turned bashful and she wondered if it was because his kin were now in the room.

Perhaps they don't approve of him speaking to elves, she pondered. Based on the glare her own father was shooting her, he certainly didn't like her speaking with a dwarf.

Míriedis swallowed hard.

She hadn't wanted to disappoint him...

"Mereedis?"

He was nervously wringing his fingers and fumbling awkwardly with a button on his crisp, deep royal blue tunic.

"Yes, Thorin?"

"I do think it's a shame you elves can't grow beards," his cheeks flamed red, "but you…you're rather pretty even without one."

Míriedis bit the inside of her cheek to stifle her smile, weary her father would notice, but before she could respond, his hand was on her shoulder.

Thranduil's expression was sour as he glared down at the young prince and Míriedis took notice.

"_Come, daughter, our business here is at an end."_

Thrain had apparently found them as well, as he was now urging Thorin out of the room, a fierce scowl hidden under his beard.

Míriedis nodded and followed her father without question, but not before catching a glimpse of Thorin meekly waving goodbye to her - much to his father's chargrin.

As she left the hall, she was stricken with a profound melancholy she never expected to feel. It had been over two-hundred and fifty years since someone other than Aethor or her brother Orelion had been kind to her. Her eldest brother, Legolas, never seemed to have the time for her. She was a nuisance to him, and a nuisance to their father.

All for something she couldn't have possibly prevented.

Míriedis sighed and wondered how long it would be until she saw her dwarven friend again.

**_T.A. 2770_**

Fire erupted from the halls of Erebor; racing through its narrow corridors and spiralling up huge columns of stone as it ripped through the massive subterranean city. Screams echoed down the halls as hundreds of dwarves made for the gates, desperate to escape the inferno that had invaded their home.

Míriedis could hear their cries from the hilltop were she stood with her kin. They had been drawn from their lands by the sound of battle nearby and while it had taken Aethor hours to convince Thranduil that they needed to investigate, they now stood at the ready, a hundred elven soldiers armed for battle.

Míriedis moved her stallion closer to her father, who sat proudly upon his elk mount looking down at the gates of Erebor.

"_Ada_, when shall we move?"

Thranduil said nothing, and didn't so much as acknowledge her presence.

She looked down the slope of the valley and saw dozens filter out of the mountain, screaming and scrambling for safety. Even from a distance, with her keen sight she could see that many were badly wounded.

"_Ada_?" She asked once more, more than a hint of desperation in her voice.

These were their allies, her father had often reminded her of that, so why wasn't he charging forward with aid?

Isn't that what allies did?

Aethor was suddenly by her side, _"My King, what are your orders?"_

A desperate plea resounded from the gates below, bellowing over the hilltop and rising over the cries of those fleeing, and Míriedis looked down to determine its origin.

She saw a single dwarf amidst the chaos standing tall, calling to her and her people for aid. There was fear and despair in his voice, but also a commanding strength.

"Help!" He cried out, "Help us!"

It struck her who it was pleading for their aid and she reached out to her father, grabbing his armoured arm and finally earning a glance from him.

"_Ada, _we must help them! Please!"

The last time she had seen the pleading man he had been but a boy, kind and curious, who had shown her more kindness in a single conversation than her father had in two-hundred years.

Thorin.

She had hoped to see her friend again, but not like this.

Thranduil turned his elk toward Mirkwood and spoke calmly to Aethor, _"We return to the woods."_

Mortified, Míriedis looked to Aethor. She couldn't have heard him correctly; surely he wasn't suggesting something so callous?

She hurried after him.

"_Ada, _they are dying!"

Silence answered her.

"We cannot do nothing!"

Again, only silence.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

"You cannot ignore this, _ada_!"

When his silence continued, her anger flared and she screamed at him for all to hear.

_"You're killing them! By doing nothing you are killing them!"_

Thranduil wiped his elk around and faced her.

"_I will not waste a single elven life saving the dwarves from the consequences of their greed! They are not deserving of any aid! They lured the dragon down from the hills, they brought its wroth and ruin upon themselves!"_

The King glared at her, and while his anger was evident to all, Míriedis caught what the others failed to see – disappointment.

Valar above, she was so tired of seeing that from him.

"_Harden yourself, daughter. The fate of others means little to us."_

She felt as though a knife had been thrust into her heart. Gone was the man she had called father and felt pride for, the man whose love for his people was matched only by the love of his children.

But it seemed the man he was had died along with her mother.

This man, the man standing before her, was a cold husk; an imposter.

"_Not to me…my king."_ She tightened her grip on the reins as her resolve blossomed, _"I will not play blind while others die!"_

With tears still stinging her eyes, she turned to Aethor.

"_Dúath nin…I…" _She swallowed hard and gathered her courage, "I am sorry."

Míriedis kicked her heels into her stallion's sides and charged forward, down the hillside slope and toward the screams.

* * *

><p><strong>***AN:** Readers, let me know what you think and if I should continue this! This is my first 'Hobbit' fanfic and I hope I didn't start off on the wrong foot! The next chapter will pick up just before the 'Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey' does, though the flashback of the prologue will be continued and explained in the chapters to come! Many thanks! - Fallon.


	2. Bree

*****Disclaimer:** I do not own any aspect of the marvellous world J.R.R. Tolkien created in 'The Hobbit' and 'the Lord of the Rings' or the film adaptations created by Peter Jackson. I am merely playing with the world they brought to life through book and film. I have tried to stay true to what they created. That being said, I have made changes to the world and its characters for the purposes of this story. Characters have been created specifically for this story. The new face you see in this story, Míriedis is mine.

This story will contain scenes of a mature nature; including but not limited to gore, violence, sex, and torture. Please consider yourselves warned. It also (obviously) contains an OC – an original character. If that is not something you typically like, please keep that in mind as you progress. That being said I have worked very hard to seamlessly integrate (as much as possible) her and all others I've created into the world of Middle Earth.

I hope you enjoy what I've come up with! Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated! Thank you kindly for reading! – Fallon.

**~One~**

_T.A. 2941_

Rain came down in heavy sheets upon the land, quickly turning the winding village roads of Bree into a murky quagmire of mud, excrement, and rotten food.

Villagers trudged through the muck as they made their way home or to the Prancing Pony, seemingly oblivious to the putrid odor rising from the road as they weaved amongst each other. Drunkards lay slumped in the tight alleyways between the homes that lined the street, clutching empty tankards as rats scurried around them in the mud.

It was a far cry from the woodland she had been born into.

She kept her head down as she made her way through the streets, wary of drawing any attention to herself. It had been long since she had worn the garb of her people, but still she knew those with keen enough eyes could see she was not of the race of Man. Her lithe figure, careful and silent steps and striking features encouraged second glances from those who weren't of her kin and she knew that tonight she could not take any unnecessary risk.

Reservations she'd been having since receiving this invitation resurfaced. It had been many years since she had set foot in any populated place, preferring to keep to the deepest parts of the wild, where the chance of crossing paths with anyone was nil. For the last seventy-seven years there were only two whose company she still sought out; two she allowed herself to keep in her life. They were safe; knowing full well the pains of her past but possessing the decency to never speak of it. Instead they provided her something she'd never experienced in all her years on Middle Earth – friendship devoid of any conditions or expectations.

In many ways they had made her long years of exile bearable.

However it was because of one of them that she was standing in the filthy streets of Bree, something she was unsure she should be thankful for or not.

She rounded the bend in the road and mercifully she spotted the inn's distinctive sign.

Letting out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding she made for the door, hoping that her friend would at least be courteous enough to not make her wait long.

But of course, after nearly an hour of waiting at a lone table in a darkened corner of the inn she was still alone. An untouched pint of ale sat on the table before her. Her eyes remained glued to it as she fought back the urge to sprint through the door and return to the safety of the wild. Much like the first time she entered Erebor, all those moons ago, she felt a physical pain at her longing for the sky above her and the peace of the forest around her.

A sudden shiver ran down her spin as her discomfort only intensified.

It was his way, this she knew, but still it frustrated her. He knew the great aversion she had to such places and yet he made her linger in a place that brought out a fear in her that made her feel as vulnerable as a newborn babe.

Her musings were interrupted by the tell-tale sound of his footsteps approaching her.

She smiled.

The drunken shouts, clanking tankards and boisterous laughter that flooded the inn weren't enough to mask their distinctive pace and whisper-soft sound. Ever since she'd first heard them approach her a hundred and seventy-one years ago, on the outskirts of Mirkwood were she lay broken and clinging to life, they had been a most welcome and comforting sound.

She pushed the pint of ale forward in offering just as he pulled back the chair and took a seat in front of her.

"You are late, my friend." She said softly, her voice laced with a mere hint of frustration.

The old wizard leaned his staff against the table, removed his pointed grey hat and took a long swig of ale.

"A troubled road?" She offered with a far softer tone, noting the worn look that had befallen him.

Gandalf lowered the tankard and nodded with a heavy sigh, "The East road is becoming far more treacherous as of late." He saw the concern in her eyes and smiled, "Worry not, my dear, for I am far from vulnerable."

"Still," she said with an uneasy glance around the room, "We could have met elsewhere."

"You mean somewhere less…crowded?"

She shot him a stern glance. Reflexively she began toying with the pendant that hung at her neck, her fingers smoothing over the familiar runes on the small tarnished silver disc.

"I would not have asked you here unless it was of the utmost importance, Míriedis, you know that." He said in a hushed voice, leaning forward and taking a cautionary scan of the area around them, "I have a venture you might be interested in…"

"Speak plainly, Gandalf," Míriedis said with more venom than she intended, "Please…I tire of this place…" She sighed heavily, running her fingers through her hair as frustration and anxiety rushed through her, careful not to lower her hood.

He saw in her a weariness caused by much more than the discomfort places such as Bree brought out in her. Her years of exile were catching up to her, chipping away at her stubborn resolve. He feared she would wither and chose to leave Middle Earth, as so many of her kind had done before her.

That was not how he wished her story to end.

Gandalf reached forward, taking her hand in his, "I know, my dear, trust me and hear me out."

Míriedis managed a small nod and Gandalf continued, his hand not leaving hers.

"In this very place not a few days past, I spoke with Thorin Oakenshield…"

Her head shot up and her eyes went wide. It had been years since she had heard that name, but often she thought of him, often she wondered how the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain fared. Once and only once in her long years of exile had she ventured close to Ered Luin, to sate her curiosity, but that had been fifty years ago.

"He's started assembling a company to take back Erebor. I've sworn to do all I can to see that the line of Durin returns to the mountain…and I'd like you to do the same." He squeezed her hand, "Join us."

Míriedis felt her chest tighten.

The thought of returning to Erebor brought a surge of mixed emotions through her that she hadn't dared expected. Going back meant reliving, meant tearing open old wounds she'd tried to forget since the day Erebor burned. It meant going near Mirkwood, risking the wrath of the man she'd once called father, and acknowledging the betrayal that had cost her everything.

But she longed to see the woods of her childhood, wished desperately to reunite with her brothers…

And so badly yearned to finish what was started so long ago, what had been hanging over her for all these long years.

"I have heard…troubling tales of him these last few years," she began cautiously, "They say he is an angry man."

That she had heard such things did not surprise him. Despite her isolation, Míriedis had always been resourceful. She kept an eye on the happenings of the world around her using the means at her disposal. Whether that meant eavesdropping, stealing, or relying on the warnings and messages sent by sparrow from Radagast, Míriedis knew the rumors and stories that spread across the land.

"His…dislike of your kind is very strong, my dear." He conceded.

"And yet you would ask me along? Why?" She spat, trying to keep her voice low but her mounting frustration making it increasingly difficult.

What he was proposing was a suicide mission; there was no way around it lest you went in with a full army at your back. Taking on a dragon could end no other way. The last time she encountered the beast it had nearly killed her. The sacrifice of a friend had been all that had saved her…

She swore she would not tempt fate again, that the price _he_ paid to save her would not be squandered.

And yet here she was, entertaining the notion of returning to what could have been her grave.

Gandalf sighed sadly and squeezed her hands in his. "Calm yourself, my friend…"

He ran his thumbs over her knuckles and allowed a soothing magic to seep from him into her weary body. It was faint, too much so for her to notice in her anxious state.

He continued speaking only when he sensed the tension lessen in her body and heard her breathing even out.

She brought her tired gaze up from the table to look at him.

"You knew him once –

"I met the boy but once…and the man? He I do not know." Míriedis shook her head, "Hatred is a poison, Gandalf, and it clouds the senses and makes good men blind." That much she knew to be true. "What makes you think he will allow an elf to sully his company? What makes you think he will remember me?"

"When I joined this quest, I had but one clause: that I could bring along an aide of my choosing."

"Since when do you require an aid?" She scoffed, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Gandalf smiled, "If I had been entirely honest, he would have asked too many questions, my dear. But my intention is for you to act as a guide. None of the dwarves he is bringing along, nor he himself, have ventured close to the mountain since the city fell. You have. You know the area, the terrain…and the dangers our road will present the closer we get to our final destination."

"Radagast has been whispering in your ear I see…" She said with a sigh, though she was hardly surprised, "Yes…I make the journey there on occasion."

"Why? Why return to a place that brings you such pain, a place where you nearly died, time and time again?"

Míriedis leaned back in her chair. As she thought about what to say, she reached for what had brought her a small degree of peace during her exile. She ran her fingers down the pendant's strong chain before reaching the rune's she sought. Long had she wondered what they represented, what word or phrase could be so important to so lovingly engrave into such a fine metal. Khuzdul was a harsh language, one she knew few words of and one she could not read. Regardless, the necklace was a reminder and something that allowed her to focus on maintaining the illusion that shrouded her since she came face-to-face with Smaug.

She looked to Gandalf, profound sadness and despair in her eyes.

It wounded him to still see such pain in her, even after so many years. Her physical wounds, though hidden, were truly nothing compared to what lay underneath.

"Gandalf," she said in a small voice, "what happened there…it needs to be remembered…and not just by the dwarves."

He nodded, "So you will join us then?"

She knew she would come to regret this. Her decisions had caused nothing but pain to those around her since far before Erebor fell. So far others had paid the price for her mistakes. Whoever her companions were for this quest, whether they were kind and accepting of her was semantics – she did not want them to suffer for her presence.

"He'll not remember me, Gandalf. If you are hoping he would and will then consent to my joining his company without complaint I fear you will be mistaken."

With a heavy sigh, Míriedis nodded.

Gandalf clasped his hands together and began rummaging through his bag. He produced a tattered slip of parchment and slid it across the table to her.

"This is where we will be meeting, a few days hence. There will be thirteen dwarves, myself, and a halfling."

She quirked a brow, intrigued by the inclusion of a member of such a reclusive and peaceful race, "A halfling?"

"You know what we need to find," Gandalf said in a whisper, "What is needed for this plan to work."

The Arkenstone.

She nodded solemnly.

It was not common knowledge that the King's Jewel had never left Erebor; that it remained buried under hordes of gold guarded by Smaug, but she had heard whispers. When she had ventured close to Ered Luin she had heard vague whispers and rumors. An inquiry with Radagast had confirmed them, though she suspected only those of the line of Durin knew the full truth of the gem – and the sickness that lied within its glimmering shell.

"And for us to have any chance of obtaining it, we need a burglar." He tapped the slip of parchment he had given her, which remained on the table between them, "We are meeting at this location, our burglar's home."

He stood and set about gathering his things, "There are inquires I must make before I head there myself."

Unease ripped through her, "You are sending me there on my own? Should you not be there with me to explain?"

And to keep them from killing me, she thought.

The old wizard donned his hat and picked up his staff.

"I will be close behind you, my dear. With luck I will arrive before the leader of our company."

"Gandalf, you are never on time."

He grumbled, "A wizard arrives precisely when he means to, my dear."

"Which is late; more often than nought, my friend."

He gave her a glare devoid of all anger, and a warm smile soon quirked upon his weathered face as all attempts at mock anger failed.

"I will meet you there, this I swear," he leaned down and pressed the parchment into her hand, "Burn this after reading, my friend."

A solemn air hung around them as the two locked eyes.

An understanding passed between them and she nodded, swiftly slipping the parchment under the leather bracer on her arm before folding her hands on the table.

Gandalf reached into his pocket and laid a few coins down on the table; more than enough to cover the cost of the ale he had consumed, she noted.

"And I thank you, my dear," he said softly, looking down at her with warm eyes, "I know that this will not be easy for you. I only hope success means peace for you."

She knew exactly what he meant even though he had the decency not to speak the words aloud. Not only was she risking her life venturing to a mountain ruled by a dragon, but she would be risking far more as it was likely their path would lead them to Mirkwood.

"As do I, old friend. Though I will admit I am unsure of whom I am most uneasy to see again."

"Oh?"

She smirked, "Thorin or Smaug."

Gandalf laughed.

Her moments of levity were few and far between, but he relished them whenever they arose.

He took a step toward her, having gathered all of his things, and clasped her on the shoulder.

"If by chance the leader of our company arrives before I, tell him I will smack the beard off of him with my staff if he has the gall to behave poorly towards you."


	3. Well Met on the Road

*****Disclaimer:** I do not own any aspect of the marvellous world J.R.R. Tolkien created in 'The Hobbit' and 'the Lord of the Rings' or the film adaptations created by Peter Jackson. I am merely playing with the world they brought to life through book and film. I have tried to stay true to what they created. That being said, I have made changes to the world and its characters for the purposes of this story. Characters have been created specifically for this story. The new face you see in this story, Míriedis is mine.

This story will contain scenes of a mature nature; including but not limited to gore, violence, sex, and torture. Please consider yourselves warned. It also (obviously) contains an OC – an original character. If that is not something you typically like, please keep that in mind as you progress. That being said I have worked very hard to seamlessly integrate (as much as possible) her and all others I've created into the world of Middle Earth.

*****Special Note: **I saw BotFA…and I sobbed. SOBBED. :'(

I hope you enjoy what I've come up with! Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated! Thank you kindly for reading! – Fallon.

**~Two~**

Míriedis lingered on the edge of Hobbiton for some time, debating the wisdom of going through with Gandalf's proposal.

Her stallion nickered, sensing his master's unease, and she rubbed his neck to reassure the creature before veering off the road. She dismounted and dropped a portion of her gear near the base of a gnarled old birch tree and ran her fingers through her hair as she paced about, a frantic mess. The urge to flee back into the woods was almost overwhelming and she wished the old wizard was with her now, if only to talk her through the chaos running through her mind.

She hissed a curse through clenched teeth.

Joining a company comprised primarily of dwarves? What was she thinking?

They wouldn't want her help, wouldn't tolerate her presence amongst them. Thorin might even strike her down before she had a chance to say a word in her defense, that is, if his kin did not beat him to it.

Again her stallion nickered and Míriedis vaguely registered his warm nose nuzzle against her shoulder as she passed him.

Uninvited, memories of her last dealings with dwarves resurfaced and caused a cold shiver to travel down her spine. She felt her chest tighten as she smelled the smoke that had filled the sky that night once again; smoke tinged with the strong odor of burning flesh.

Her flesh.

She braced herself against her horse, gripping the saddle and pressing her forehead to the worn leather as she tried to ground herself in the present, tried to pull back from the memory.

Once again her stallion nickered and she finally registered what he had been trying to alert her to.

The sound of footsteps approaching.

She shrugged off her anxiety and quickly drew up her hood and fixed her scarf in place, concealing all but her eyes. Though her clothes were not of her people, she did not want whoever was approaching to know she was an elf. She was far safer alone on the road drawing as little attention to herself as she could and in order to do that, she had to appear as though she was of the race of Man; a sight more familiar to those of the area than an elf.

The rustle of leaves and the sound of voices accompanied the footsteps.

She brushed aside her cloak and her hand fell to the hilt of her sword fixed securely to her hip. Her bow and quiver were bundled up with the remainder of her gear atop the birch's twisted roots, but she was not concerned, for she had two more blades strapped her to back, concealed by her cloak.

She was far from vulnerable.

The voices were dangerously close now. She could tell there was two of them and over the rustle of snapping twigs, she could hear them laughing.

It did little to calm her nerves however. They were a threat, they had to be. She was on a secluded side road in unfamiliar territory; she could not afford to think otherwise.

Still, if these were bandits, they weren't very good ones.

Her pulse quickened to a frantic level as adrenaline rushed through her. She waited for their attack to fall upon her, waited for the tell-tale sound of blades being drawn from sheaths and arrows being notched.

But those sounds did not come.

She heard them emerge from the bush, heard them whisper to one-another, and then one of them cleared their throat.

Míriedis spun around, drawing her blade and facing the threat that had stepped out of the forest. She expected wound-be bandits, amateurs seeking coin but lacking skill, or at the very least, farmers making their way into town.

She did not expect to be faced with two dwarves.

Both looked shocked by her response. The one closest her, whom she assumed had cleared his throat and who was now staring at her wide-eyed with his hands raised was clad in a brown leather jacket trimmed with what looked like the fur of a wolf. He had two blades strapped to his back and she could see the hilts of daggers peeking out from his bracers. He had blonde hair and a braided mustache, but not much in the way of a beard.

A young one, she thought.

The dwarf behind him, while shocked like his kinsman, had drawn his bow and notched an arrow as she had drawn her blade and now had it pointed right at her.

He seemed even younger then the blonde, with not but stubble on his chin. He had long brown hair that lacked even a simple braid and had dark eyes.

She was surprised to see a bow in the hands of a dwarf, even more so when she noted the skill with which he held it. He knew what he was doing.

"Terribly sorry, my lady," the blonde said with a smile, breaking the tense silence, "Didn't mean to frighten you."

He glanced back over his shoulder to his comrade, "Kee, lower your bow."

The archer did as he was told, slipping the arrow back into his quiver and shooting the blonde a skeptical look before turning to Míriedis.

"Sorry," he said in a quick breath as he met her gaze, his lips quirking upwards in a small smirk, "Just a reflex, is all."

The blonde smacked him playfully on the shoulder, "He meant nothing by it, miss, and we only meant to ask you for directions not startle you." He looked back to her and chuckled as he scratched his head, "We're quite lost, I'm afraid."

Míriedis sighed and lowered her blade but made no move to sheath it. They seemed sincere enough, but she couldn't shake the feeling that urged her to be weary.

Years in exile had ingrained it upon her.

They were strangers…and dwarves at that. As kind as they seemed, surely if they knew she was an elf that would change.

"It is unwise to sneak up on travellers, even with honest intentions, dwarf." She said sternly, taking a half step backwards to put more distance between herself and the strangers. "Some would not have hesitated as I did."

"Why did you?" Asked the archer, "Hesitate, that is?"

She gave a small shrug, "I heard laughing as you approached. If you were bandits you were hardly skilled ones."

The blonde laughed, "That would be his fault, my lady. Kee here made an arse of himself, thought he saw a beast of a bear and tripped over a root when he went to tell me. Scared himself half to death…gave me a good laugh though."

The archer blushed slightly and smacked his comrade, "I thought we were going to ask for directions –

"Ah yes!" The blonde interrupted, "Do you by chance know the way to Hobbiton?"

Míriedis sighed and finally sheathed her blade as she set about gathering up her gear, "I do, though I've not been there before. You're on the right path, its half a day's journey down this very road." She gestured down the road they were on, toward the rolling green hills the woods opened up to, "Rather difficult to get lost, honestly."

"Again, Kee's fault," the blonde said with a smile, "Shouldn't have trusted him with the map; he dropped it when he tripped over that root."

"This is hardly my fault!" The archer insisted, "You said you'd been this way before!"

The blonde opened his mouth to protest but Míriedis interrupted, not wanting their bickering to delay her departure.

"Regardless," she said with more than a hint of annoyance in her voice, "it is that way. I wish you luck reaching your destination, dwarves."

She turned to adjust the gear she strapped to her stallion, taking great pains to ensure nothing was making the creature uncomfortable. Her back now to them, she listened carefully to their every movement, noting even the slight shifting of their boots upon the dirt road. If they so much as twitched for their weapons, Míriedis was prepared to strike their heads from their bodies with a flick of her blade.

She felt the eyes of the dwarves on her and asked the Valar to quickly send them on their way, _away_ from her.

Instead, she heard one take a small step closer to her.

"Are you by chance headed that way yourself?" The archer asked, eyeing the gear she had fastened to her horse.

"I might be." She conceded when her silence did not seem to satisfy them.

"Why don't we go as far as Hobbiton together then?" The blonde asked, "Safety in numbers, and all that. Kee might get us lost again anyway, despite your aid. And a lady shouldn't travel alone, even in these parts."

Míriedis laughed, "I am hardly defenseless, dwarf."

She turned to them. She felt compelled to deny them, to mount her stallion and ride off without them to enjoy the last remnants of solitude she had before reaching her destination. But she doubted she'd be rid of them so easily. Meeting two dwarves on the road was likely not a coincidence. They were likely going where she was, to Bag End.

She sighed. At times the Valar were not kind.

"You go to Bag End, do you not?" Míriedis asked, though she already knew the answer.

Dwarves were not as rare a sight on the roads as elves were, but dwarves travelling without a fully company were.

These were to be two of her companions, she was sure of it.

The blonde's eyes opened wide, "How do you –

"It is my destination as well."

He drew his swords and his comrade followed suit, readying his bow.

Tension returned to the air around them.

"What do you know of our destination?" The blonde demanded, all hint of his earlier jovial banter now gone, "None outside our kin were to know of our purpose!"

"Are you a spy?" The archer asked, moving out from behind his comrade to circle around her, "A bounty hunter after our uncle's head?"

She turned to the archer and saw the fiery determination in his dark eyes. He wanted to protect whoever his uncle was, but she also saw how he looked to his comrade. He wanted to protect his comrade as well.

"You are brothers," she determined, "are you not?"

They didn't answer, though she saw the archer shoot a look to the blonde.

"I mean you no harm, truly, Master Dwarf," she told the archer, "Nor do I seek to harm your brother, or whoever your uncle is."

The archer's features softened as the sincerity of her words hit him. Her face was hidden to him save her eyes, but in them he saw no malice, no deceit.

He looked to his comrade.

"Then who are you?" Asked the blonde, "And why do you seek Bag End?"

"I was invited by an old friend, by Gandalf the wizard, to help." She hesitated, unsure if it was wise to tell them her name, should they guess her heritage. She did not want that revealed until she had Gandalf at her side to prevent them from killing her. "You can call me Míri."

Neither seemed entirely convinced, though that did not irritate her. They wanted to protect their kin; she could not fault them for that.

"I understand if you doubt me," she said gently, "I do. But do hold off attacking until we reach our destination. Gandalf swore he would explain to you and your kin once we had arrived."

"Explain what?" The archer asked, his voice lacking the venom it had possessed earlier.

"Me," she answered honestly, "and why I am to accompany you. If what he says is not to your satisfaction, nor that of your kin, you can attempt to run me through then. Though I will leave with no resistance, no fight at all, should the leader of your company bid me to leave."

The two dwarves shared a look and ultimately lowered their weapons.

"Thank you."

The blonde grumbled under his breath as he sheathed his twin blades.

"He's Fili," the archer spoke for him, "And I'm Kili."

"A pleasure," Míriedis said with a small albeit stiff bow, "Now, if you are done threatening my life, shall we be off?"

* * *

><p>The woman who called herself Míri was kind enough, if not bristly and strange.<p>

She had offered to stow their gear upon her horse and they had been all too happy to accept, having carried it all themselves since leaving Ered Luin. With no room left on the horse for herself, she walked beside it, leading the stallion by his reins as they made their way down the winding Shire road south to Hobbiton.

At one point Kili leaned over to whisper to his brother what had been bothering him from the very moment they had met the strange woman.

Her sword.

Kili swore it looked elven.

Not that he was an expert. Elves were not welcome close to Ered Luin. He had only seen them on one or two occasions while on the road with Thorin, Dwalin and his brother, and always from a distance. Their uncle had taken great pains to avoid crossing paths with elves.

But it was too sleek in design to have come from the forges of Man or Dwarf, of that he was certain.

Fili had dismissed his concerns but he continued to keep a close eye on their companion, his suspicion of her heightened since she admitted to sharing their destination.

When Kili spotted her bow and quiver, fastened to her horse's saddle and wrapped tightly with a ragged old blanket, it only took a quick glance at what little was not covered to determine that it too was too fine to be crafted by Men.

Curious, Kili moved to the strange woman's side, much to his brother's surprise.

He ignored the look his brother gave him, a look that urged caution, and looked up at the woman.

She was only a head or so taller than him and from what little of her features he could see he guessed her to be young. Her eyes were a cold grey-blue and he saw the hint of freckles under her eyes. A few stray strands of ash blonde hair peeked out from under her hood and though her skin was smeared with what appeared to be soot, he could tell she was pale.

"How did you meet him?" Kili asked, "Gandalf; that is. Fili and I have only heard tales of him."

Míriedis glanced at him only briefly before turning her focus back to the road.

"He saved me once, long ago," she said cryptically, offering nothing more by way of explanation and instead falling into silence.

Kili didn't let that deter him though, "I've heard he knows magic, spells of all sorts."

"He's a wizard," Fili piped in, "Of course he does, Kee."

Kili shot his brother an annoyed look, then turned back to Míri.

"Is that true?"

"I've seen him accomplish miraculous feats," she admitted, "I doubt it is the sort of magic you are envisioning however."

Fili grumbled behind them and Míriedis sighed in frustration. She had already had her fill of dwarves and she could hardly imagine dealing with any more.

"You can tell your brother I have no desire to kill either of you," she snapped at Kili, "Though if he continues brooding like a scolded child I might reconsider that." She shot Fili a sharp, warning glance over her shoulder.

Kili laughed, looking up at her with a big smile that took her by surprise. The young dwarf smiled as if he lacked a care in the world, as if he was entirely overcome with happiness. It was…unsettling, the innocence and unbridled zeal for life she saw in him.

He knew nothing of the world.

And yet…

She quickly pulled her focus back to the road, shaking off the bizarre reverie.

"He'd not be so suspicious if you weren't so set on hiding." Kili said with a cheeky grin, completely oblivious to his strange companion's discomfort.

She knew of what he was speaking, and nervously adjusted her scarf, ensuring it was secured. His curiosity would put her in danger and while she was not foolish enough to think her heritage would remain hidden indefinitely, she wanted to delay its reveal until the wizard was present to guard her back.

"I do not know you," she said sharply, "I do not trust you and I am more comfortable now as I am."

She cursed inwardly.

_Audacious boy…fool of a dwarf,_ she thought angrily, _I'm walking with you, is that not enough?_

The archer seemed startled by the bite in her tone and noted the deep furrow of her brow. She appeared to be deep in thought, her eyes poised straight ahead but her mind seemingly elsewhere. He had clearly touched upon a sensitive topic for the woman and he knew enough to apologize.

"Forgive me, my lady." He said sincerely, "Will you hide …like this, as you are, for our entire journey though?" He smirked, "Seems like an awful bit of effort."

She sighed, "No. I will not."

"When Gandalf joins us then?"

Míriedis hesitated but ultimately nodded.

Kili was silent and she thought perhaps his questions were mercifully at an end. It had been decades since she had spoken to anyone at such length. Even with Gandalf her exchanges had been quick, to the point. This damned dwarf had too many questions for his own good.

"Is it because we are dwarves?" The archer finally asked.

Míriedis stopped in her tracks, so abrupt that even her stallion was startled. Fili narrowly avoided walking into her and cursed under his breath as he moved to dodge her, taking a quick step to the side to stand nearer his brother.

Kili looked up at the strange woman and saw that she looked surprisingly pained, as if his words had physically struck her as they left his lips. Her eyes, though fixed forward, looked profoundly sad. Her grip on her horse's reins had tightened to the point that her knuckles had whitened.

The stallion nickered and Kili saw Míri jerk ever so slightly, as if the sound had pulled her from something.

"Yes, I suppose," she croaked in a pained voice wrought with barely-contained emotion, "though it is not so simple –

"Not so simple?" Fili spat angrily, standing between her and Kili, instinctively guarding his younger brother from what he was certain was a threat, "Explain it then!"

He expected her to attack, if not with steel then with words, but the strange woman did neither.

"Fili," she said in a whisper-soft voice, "I do not seek to harm you, your brother, nor any of your kin. I truly do not fault you for being so guarded. You wish to protect your brother, I respect that. But I am no threat. That you are dwarves does concern me, yes, though not for any reason you might suspect." She sighed, "Please, all I ask is that you refrain from trying to kill me until Gandalf has explained why I am here."

The two brothers exchanged glances.

Fili did not seem to entirely believe her, and she expected as much. Dwarves were notoriously stubborn, and a small part of her found it endearing that the trait remained in their blood, given that it had been a hundred and seventy years since she had last spoken with one of their kind.

"Truly, Fili, if dwarves offended me as much as you think I'd not have signed on to a company full of them." She was smiling slightly at that, but they of course could not tell.

Kili laughed and elbowed his brother.

"She has a point, Fee."

Fili groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he conceded with a laboured sigh, "but I have a feeling uncle isn't going to like this, Kee."

Kili shrugged, not nearly as concerned as his brother appeared to be. She was beginning to understand that distinction between the two.

"Always so glum, brother!"

Fili gave a short, half-hearted laugh, "Realistic, brother, unlike you."

* * *

><p>Night had fallen by the time the trio found Bag End.<p>

The trip had been uneventful after her final set of reassurances to the elder brother and while he had not voiced his distrust, he had glared at her the whole way to Hobbiton.

As the brothers fumbled with their gear, Míriedis tied her stallion's reins to a rung of a worn fence at the base of a winding set of stone steps leading to their final destination.

She glanced around her, gauging her surrounding for threats, and saw nothing but rolling hills of hobbit holes, tiny ponds, fat farm animals and well-trimmed gardens.

She smiled and breathed a sigh of contentment.

It was a beautiful place, Míriedis decided, and while it lacked the abundance of trees she preferred, it was tranquil and homey. She could see why hobbits cherished it so. It seemed untouched by the hardships of the world, as if a magical barrier encapsulated it, keeping unsavoury folk from tarnishing its beauty.

Kili and Fili hurried up the stairs and Míriedis followed, surprisingly amused by the sight before her. The two brothers pushed and shoved each other as they ascended the stairs. Once, Kili pushed too hard and nearly sent his brother tumbling into a rose bush. He stopped laughing long enough to catch Fili, right him and ensure he was fine before continuing their shenanigans. They radiated the love and respect they had for each other and it made her think of her own brothers, even though hers were much, much older than the two dwarves.

She smiled despite the sadness thinking of her brothers brought out in her and decided, right then, that regardless of Kili's numerous, prodding questions and Fili's distrust and glares, that they were a likeable sort.

She could only hope that they would not try to kill her once she was forced to remove her scarf and hood.


	4. Bag End

*****Disclaimer:** I do not own any aspect of the marvellous world J.R.R. Tolkien created in 'The Hobbit' and 'the Lord of the Rings' or the film adaptations created by Peter Jackson. I am merely playing with the world they brought to life through book and film. I have tried to stay true to what they created. That being said, I have made changes to the world and its characters for the purposes of this story. Characters have been created specifically for this story. The new face you see in this story, Míriedis is mine.

This story will contain scenes of a mature nature; including but not limited to gore, violence, sex, and torture. Please consider yourselves warned. It also (obviously) contains an OC – an original character. If that is not something you typically like, please keep that in mind as you progress. That being said I have worked very hard to seamlessly integrate (as much as possible) her and all others I've created into the world of Middle Earth.

*****Special Note: **I saw BotFA for the second time…and I sobbed. AGAIN. :'(

I hope you enjoy what I've come up with! Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated! Thank you kindly for reading! – Fallon.

**~Three~**

Kili won the race to the door and knocked in triumph, shooting Fili a smug grin as he did so.

Míriedis stood a ways back from them, hoping to steal a moment to ease her anxieties.

She knew Gandalf would not be inside; it would be too easy if he was and nothing had ever been so easy for her. The real concern was how many dwarves were inside and if she would be able to talk herself out of removing her hood and scarf before the wizard arrived. If she could not, then she worried she'd have to draw blade to defend herself – not something easily done in a hobbit hole she suspected.

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers, trying to stave off the worries this moment conjured in her and reaffirm her trust in Gandalf.

She heard the door to the hobbit hole open quickly, heard what sounded like an irate hobbit greet the dwarves, and she opened her eyes.

Kili and Fili had barged in with only a quick introduction and Míriedis saw the hobbit that had opened the door gape at them with utter confusion painted across his face.

Kili heaved his bow and quiver into the hobbit's arms and Fili followed suit, placing each of his blades into the pile and thoroughly enjoying the shocked look on their host's face as one blade was followed by another.

Míriedis sighed, somehow certain that their dear wizard friend had told the poor hobbit nothing of this meeting, and stepped forward. She ducked down low to pass through the doorway and gently closed the door behind her.

"And who are you?" The hobbit demanded, turning to her with arms overflowing with weapons.

She stepped forward, lightening the hobbit's load by taking the majority of the weapons herself.

"You may call me Míri," she said politely, "and you must be Master Baggins?"

"I am," the hobbit said with a sigh of relief and a shake of his arms, "can you please tell me what's going on? I now have four dwarves in my kitchen, raiding my pantry, and none have had the courtesy to tell me what this is all about."

"Gandalf truly told you nothing of this?"

Realization flashed over the hobbit's face and he smacked his palm to his forehead, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Oh, Gandalf…" The hobbit groaned, "What did I do to deserve this…"

She placed the pile of weapons on a nearby bench but hesitated to add hers to the heap. The hobbit had said there were two other dwarves in the hole and she wasn't about to leave herself unarmed when chances were likely one would at least try to kill her by the time the night was through.

"I apologize on his behalf, Master Baggins. I was under the assumption you knew," she gestured toward the commotion coming from the other room, from where she heard Kili and Fili with others whose voices she did not recognize, "as were the two I arrived with, I'd guess."

"Clearly you're not a dwarf," the hobbit said in a whisper strained by frustration, "Of the race of Men, are you? What are you doing with this lot?"

From the kitchen she heard the dwarves rejoice over the discovery of a cask of ale.

She shook her head.

"What I am might cause a bit of a scene tonight, Master Baggins," Míriedis said solemnly, "I apologize ahead of time for whatever…damage it might cause."

* * *

><p>It had been too long since he'd last seen Dwalin and even longer since he'd seen Balin, the elder of the two, and Kili was eager to question them on their adventures. He had lived for their stories when he was a boy, clung on to every detail and pestered them with a hundred questions. He grew up wanting to go on adventures like the ones in their stories and it was only thanks to Fili's powers of persuasion that he was allowed to join in on this one.<p>

Eager did not describe his desire for this adventure to truly begin, nor did it touch upon his thirst to see more of the world.

He'd only been trusted on ventures that took him as far as Bree before. Those had been simple jobs, escorting trading caravans coming in from the East Road back to Ered Luin. He'd never actually been in Bree or even the Shire before.

That he might see Erebor, might walk the halls of his forefathers and see his people brought back to the mountain…that was a story he was desperate to live.

"Did you see the woman who arrived with us, Dwalin?" Fili asked as the older man handed him an armful of tankards.

Kili stopped what he was doing and turned to Dwalin.

"We met her on the road," he explained, "We needed directions and –

"What madness are you talking about, boy?" Dwalin asked in his usual gruff manner, his brushy brow furrowed and his gaze intense.

"We were lost," Fili continued, "She pointed us in the right direction, we weren't as far off as we feared. We offered to journey with her to Hobbiton, if that was her destination."

"A courteous offer," Balin offered, clasping Kili on the shoulder and smiling warmly, "Good lads, the both of you."

Dwalin looked expectantly at the brothers.

"And?" He prompted.

"Turns out she was coming here, to this very hobbit hole," Fili said in one tense breath, "She came with us."

Dwalin smacked his fist on the table and hurried from the room, searching the halls for the woman.

Kili followed his brother and Balin out after him.

Dwalin was no fool and never one who dealt out violence needlessly, but Kili had no doubt he would do anything to protect their mission, to protect Thorin.

He pushed past Fili to move closer to Dwalin.

"She's…um…different, Dwalin," Kili stammered, more unsure of how to explain Míri than anything else, "Said Gandalf sent her and that he'd explain everything once he arrived."

They rounded the corner just then and nearly ran in to the hobbit and the strange woman. There was a tense moment of surprise, where no one dared move, followed by Dwalin drawing a small blade he'd hidden under his bracer and the hobbit practically squealing as he jumped behind Míriedis.

Balin demanded Dwalin drop his weapon, but the man brushed him off and kept his focus on the tall stranger. His weapons were behind her, tucked in a corner near the door, and he was already working out how to get past her and arm himself before she had a chance to respond.

Dwalin glared at her, his voice a deep growl, "Who are you, woman?"

* * *

><p>The man standing before her was a warrior, hardened and tested. She could see hints of scars on his forearms and a particularly nasty one sliced his right brow, marring his forehead. He was rugged, and she suspected he had lived a hard life; seen many battles and few comforts.<p>

His display did not unsettle her. She could see him eyeing the weapons she knew to be behind her and she had no intention of allowing him any closer. As it was, he had a single small blade and brutish looking knuckle dusters; whereas she had three blades on her and over a thousand years of training.

Even in such close quarters, she felt confident that he wouldn't get past her.

"Kili and Fili told you," she said evenly, "I am Míri."

Dwalin barely let her finish, "What be your purpose 'ere, woman?"

Míriedis looked past him, making eye contact with the brothers and then the white-bearded elder dwarf she had not seen before.

"To help, Master Dwarf," She said honestly, "Might I know your name?"

"I am Dwalin and you are not wanted here."

She did not want to provoke the man by allowing her frustration to show in her words, but it was difficult to conceal.

She took a deep, steadying breath and reminded herself that there were more cantankerous dwarves yet to deal with.

If anything, dealing with this Dwalin was merely round one.

"There is one who has the power to send me away, Dwalin. You are not him."

Dwalin snarled, "And who might that be?"

Míriedis felt the hobbit clutch her cloak from behind her.

"The leader of our company, of course." She answered, "Thorin Oakenshield."

Dwalin glared at Kili and Fili over his shoulder, both of which shook their head.

"How did you hear that name, woman?" Dwalin demanded, taking a step toward her, "What do you know of him?"

"Some," she admitted, "All of which I will explain to you, Dwalin, once Gandalf arrives. And I have a name, Master Dwarf; I ask that you use it."

"You'll explain now, _woman_," Dwalin circled around her, getting closer to where his weapon rested, "Explain or I –

"You'll do nothing, Dwalin."

The group of them turned to see a familiar, and very welcomed, figure in the doorway.

The hobbit peaked out from around her, "Gandalf!"

The wizard closed the door as softly as he had opened it, moving to stand next to Míriedis whilst keeping his eyes on Dwalin.

"The courtesy of dwarves seems to be somewhat lacking as of late," Gandalf said with a scowl, "This woman has done nothing to warrant your aggression, Master Dwarf."

"If she is a threat to him…" Dwalin warned.

"So far I have threatened no one," Míriedis snapped, annoyed with the entire affair and ready to be done with the whole thing, "and yet my life has been threatened many times," she shook her head, "and all in one day."

She turned to Gandalf, seething and finding it impossible to conceal now that the wizard had arrived, "I told you it was foolish for me to be here. I've not even told them and this is the welcome I receive!"

"Tell us what?" Kili asked, his voice catching her attention.

She turned, her eyes focused solely on him.

"You know," she stated evenly, "you saw it in my sword."

Kili was caught off guard for only a moment before realization set in and his eyes widened. Fili figured it out next, after glancing to his brother and seeing the look on his face. He remembered what Kili had told him.

Fili looked to her, disbelief evident in his eyes.

"You're an elf?"

* * *

><p>Míriedis relaxed in the armchair near the fire.<p>

Gandalf was still arguing with Dwalin and Balin in the kitchen and while the wizard was attempting to keep them relatively quiet, she could of course hear every word.

Fili and Kili were with them as well, but she had yet to hear either brother say anything.

Not that it mattered; Dwalin was saying more than enough to give her an impression on how it was going.

Based on the sheer number of times he had referred to her as a 'traitorous elven wench' and an 'honourless wood sprite' she felt the wisest course of action would be to leave before more of his kin showed up.

She was willing to risk her life against the dragon, but to risk it against those who should have her back…that seemed like true madness to her.

She toyed with the chain of her pendant, careful to keep it hidden under the neckline of her tunic but needing to feel its familiar ridges under her fingers. As doubt rushed through her mind, making her question why she was there, simply touching the pendant reminded her why she was enduring their hatred and distrust.

For the price she paid the day Erebor burned.

"Are you well, miss?" Bilbo asked as he handed her a cup of tea before taking a seat in the armchair across from her, "You look distracted."

The commotion in the kitchen grew louder suddenly and was quickly quieted by a booming command from Gandalf.

Bilbo jumped in his seat at the sound of the wizard shouting, nervously glancing over his shoulder toward the kitchen.

She took a small sip of tea and then placed it on the table between them, "Tis nothing, Bilbo."

"Doesn't seem like nothing," he murmured, clutching his cup of tea tightly, "Is you being an elf truly such a problem?"

"Elves and dwarves have a long history, much of it built upon broken promises and suspicion." She explained quietly, "As frustrating as they are, I understand their unease. I share it."

Bilbo's brow quirked up in surprise, "You do?"

Míriedis nodded, "Of course, I did not make the decision to join this quest lightly."

Bilbo cringed at the mention of a 'quest' and squeezed his eyes together tightly before giving a heavy sigh.

"Can you please tell me what this quest is? What all of this is about?" He waved his hand around dramatically, gesturing to the chaos around him and nearly slipping his tea, "Can I expect more dwarves to barge in and ruin my evening?"

She smirked, "Most likely yes. As to what our purpose is, I will allow Gandalf to explain. There are enough in this hobbit hole who detest me at the moment, I'd like to avoid adding your name to that list."

* * *

><p>"Thorin isn't going to stand for this, Gandalf," Dwalin said heavily, "There is no way that she-elf is going to join in this company."<p>

"She has a name, Dwalin," Gandalf said with a scowl, "and she just happens to be very familiar with the path we intend to take."

"We now the way home," Dwalin said, offensive evident in his sour tone.

"And how many of your kin have been so far east as Erebor in the last hundred and seventy years, hmm?" Gandalf countered, "She is an excellent scout and fierce in combat; beyond that she is offering her aid freely."

Balin stepped forward, "Freely? You mean to say she demands no compensation or reward for her efforts?"

"None beyond the pleasure of seeing Smaug destroyed," Gandalf stated firmly, "and if you think her intentions malicious, remember she had the chance to strike down two of your kin and did not." He nodded to Kili and Fili.

Dwalin gave a heavy, frustrated sigh, "Yes, Thorin is just going to love that little detail."

"What were we supposed to do?" Fili asked, "Strike her down? She drew her blade once, but only because we startled her. She sheathed her sword when she realized we were no bandits. Should we have killed a woman on suspicion alone?"

"It's not Fili's fault," Kili admitted in one quick breath, drawing the attention of all in the kitchen, "He was guarded, weary of her; as we should have been. I was the one more willing to trust her. If there is blame to be laid it should be laid at my feet."

Fili sighed and clasped his shoulder.

"You're too hard on yourself brother –

"As he should be," Dwalin said in a stern, authoritative voice, "Women-folk are just as capable of driving a dagger into your back as any man is. Had she been a real threat, our people could have been down two Durins."

Kili hung his head.

The only person he hated to disappoint more than Dwalin was Thorin, and he was not looking forward to his uncle's reaction when he was told what happened on the road. Dwalin had helped train him and had defended him when he showed interest in archery – a skill not typically associate with dwarves and one Thorin initially forbade him from pursuing. That he had ultimately been allowed and even encouraged was due almost entirely to Dwalin.

Balin grabbed Dwalin's arm, "No need for that, brother. The lad knows to be careful."

Dwalin grumbled, then turned to Gandalf, "If Thorin is to be convinced, it's on you, wizard. I'll have no part in twisting his arm."

"Of course," Gandalf conceded, truly never have expecting the devoted old warrior to do anything different, "I only ask that you keep him from killing her, at least give me the chance to explain the situation before swords clash."

With a huff, Dwalin nodded and left the kitchen, withdrawing to the dining hall with Balin. Fili made to join them, but turned to Kili before leaving the cramped kitchen.

He said nothing, but arched a brow; the question hanging unspoken between them.

"I'm going to apologize," Kili said, nodding to the living room, "I'll be right with you." He saw his brother's unease and then added with a smile, "I promise, I'll be fine."

Fili nodded and hurried to join the others, leaving only Gandalf and Kili in the kitchen.

Gandalf heaved a sigh of relief. Dealing with dwarves was exhausting work and while he harbored no foolish delusions that convincing Thorin of their need for Míriedis on their journey would be easy, he was relieved to have placated Dwalin. At least for the time being.

He turned to Kili and saw him lingering quietly in the doorway, seemingly unsure whether or not to actually approach the elf.

He knew that the lad had most likely been taught from an early age that elves were not to be trusted. Thorin's encounter with the elves the day Erebor burned was well known…at least his version of events were, and while his version lacked a vital truth, Gandalf knew it went far to colour the impression dwarves had of elves.

"I appreciate you and your brother not killing my scout, Kili," he said with a warm smile, "she will be a great asset to this quest, of that I am sure."

Kili nodded but Gandalf could tell the young dwarf was still uneasy. Whether it was due to the presence of an elf under the roof or the impending arrival of his uncle, Gandalf was not certain.

He left the kitchen and made his way down the corridor, following the sound of the hobbit's voice. He had seen Míri leave the entry way with the hobbit after Gandalf interceded and broke the group up before more than words were slung, and suspected she would be where the halfling was.

As he neared what he thought to be the living room, the hobbit's voice grew louder.

"Have you met them before?" He heard the hobbit ask.

"No."

"Then why do you think they hate you?"

The elf gave a short and mocking laugh, "Because I am elven."

"And do you hate them because they are dwarven?"

Kili stopped just shy of the archway and listened.

"Hate?" A pause, "No, but I am cautious. Dwarves are stubborn, as you have seen. They are also long lived, the hold on to grudges and allow no slight to be forgotten."

"You elves live forever," the hobbit began, "do you not do the same?"

"Hmm," the elf thought for a moment, his question a good one and one worthy of consideration, "I suppose we do, in our fashion. I have certainly known elves whose entire existence seems to revolve around bitterness and resentment. I am not perfect, I've held on to the pains of the past, but I am not foolish enough to think one dwarf is the same as another." She paused, "Some, for example, are rather prone to eavesdropping."

Kili winced and nearly smacked himself, stopping just short of doing so for fear she would hear that too.

Instead he swallowed hard and stepped into the living room.


	5. Of Friends & Foes

*****Disclaimer:** I do not own any aspect of the marvellous world J.R.R. Tolkien created in 'The Hobbit' and 'the Lord of the Rings' or the film adaptations created by Peter Jackson. I am merely playing with the world they brought to life through book and film. I have tried to stay true to what they created. That being said, I have made changes to the world and its characters for the purposes of this story. Characters have been created specifically for this story. The new face you see in this story, Míriedis is mine.

This story will contain scenes of a mature nature; including but not limited to gore, violence, sex, and torture. Please consider yourselves warned. It also (obviously) contains an OC – an original character. If that is not something you typically like, please keep that in mind as you progress. That being said I have worked very hard to seamlessly integrate (as much as possible) her and all others I've created into the world of Middle Earth.

*****Special Note: **I saw BotFA for the second time…and I sobbed. AGAIN. :'(

I hope you enjoy what I've come up with! Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated! Thank you kindly for reading! – Fallon.

**~Four~**

The living room was modest but warm and comfortable. Two armchairs were positioned before a crackling hearth, on which the hobbit and the elf were presently seated.

The hobbit seemed surprised to see him, the elf not so. She looked beyond the startled hobbit to Kili, curious as to what the young dwarf would do. She knew he intended to apologize, had heard him claim as much, but still doubt remained.

The part of her that remained ever-alert and on guard whispered dark fears to her. _He could be hear under a guise and intend to drive a dagger into your chest, _the voice urged.

Bilbo's voice interrupted the paranoid inner ramblings that assaulted her mind.

"You heard him?" stammered the hobbit, "I heard nothing."

It was true, even the floor boards had not cracked overly so to signal the dwarf's approach.

She smiled, "My ears are not merely for decoration, Bilbo."

Kili shifted uneasily on his feet, realizing she must have heard some if not all of their conversation in the kitchen.

Míri looked to Bilbo, "Gandalf is in the dining room with the others, Bilbo. You should find your answers there."

The hobbit looked uneasily back at Kili, obviously unsure whether or not to leave, given the altercation in the entry way and Míri's talk of the tension between the races of dwarves and elves.

"It is quite fine, Bilbo," she glanced back up to Kili, "the young archer wishes only to speak."

Kili found his voice, "I do. You have my word, Mister Boggins."

Bilbo looked back to Míri, and upon receiving a reassuring smile and nod from her, he relented.

Bilbo rose from his armchair, tea in hand, and left the room, muttering 'It's Baggins' under his breath as he passed Kili.

As soon as he passed through the doorway, she gestured to the now vacant chair across from her.

"You can sit, if you'd like."

Kili awkwardly moved to do just that, inwardly cursing himself for behaving like such a fumbling dwarfling. Before, when they had spoken on the road he hadn't felt nearly as clumsy. It wasn't because she was a woman, he decided, as talking to the fairer sex had never been a problem for him. Despite his lack of a beard, he was confident (not that his lack of facial hair didn't bother him).

No, it was because she was an elf he concluded, and cut an intimidating figure as well as an alluring one.

Her ash blonde hair was pulled back out of her face in a simple knot devoid of any braids or flair. Only wisps of hair fell loose around her face. It struck him as practical, but not what he pictured in an elf. From amongst the tangles of her hair, the tips of her pointed ears peaked. The sprinkling of freckles along the apples of her cheeks made her eyes appear even more doe-like, though he did not suspect her to be as naïve as her big blue eyes made her out to be.

He was surprised to see a thin scar mar her right cheek, - something he did not notice when she removed her hood - stretching down from her temple to just below her pink pouty lips, across her chin.

Her garb was not what he expected of an elf either. Her worn leather boots and dusty trousers lacked the fine detail he thought the elves to acquire and her billowy green blouse had evidently been mended many times judging by the sloppy stiches on the arms and seemed too big for her. Her dark leather bodice and bracers seemed the only thing of real quality save her cloak, though they too looked worn.

All in all, she was not what he thought elves to be.

She of course felt his gaze, but did not concern herself over what he would see. Her illusion was holding strong, revealing only a thin scar across her cheek and nothing near the full extent of her injuries. In truth, the scar distracted keen eyes away from her greatest source of discomfort and shame. Even the keenest eyes only saw an old scar, a trophy perhaps from some ancient battle, which was all she desired anyone to see.

"You wanted to apologize?" She prompted when it seemed the young dwarf was having difficulty finding his voice.

"I did," he croaked, continuing only after clearing his throat, "I am sorry my kinsmen reacted…poorly to your presence. And that my brother and I mistrusted you."

"I feared you'd simply strike me down where I stood if you had known earlier," she admitted, gaze fixed upon the fire, "I accept your apology and offer my own; perhaps if I had been honest earlier an altercation could have been avoided."

He gave a short laugh, glancing down somewhat nervously to fidget with his fingers, "Honestly I think Dwalin would have reacted the same way."

"Would you have?" She asked evenly, regarding him from the corner of her eye.

He looked up quickly, "Huh?"

"Would you and your brother have reacted the same way to me on the road had you known?" She clarified a small smile of amusement on her lips.

Kili shrugged, "I don't know. We wouldn't have killed you, if that is what you fear. Might have sent you on your way with a threat or brought you with us as a hostage, tried to find out why you knew so much about uncle and our quest."

He seemed lost in thought and was fidgeting, wringing his fingers slightly in a manner that suggested he was not aware he was doing it; considering her question further when she turned to face him.

"Thorin Oakenshield is your uncle." She stated more so than asked.

She saw it clearly now. Perhaps it was the lighting, or the fact that she was actually looking at him straight on for the first time, but she saw the resemblance. Beyond the colour mere of his hair, it was present in his eyes, in the confident glare he had shot at her when they'd met on the road. Fili possessed the same quality. And while she had not seen Thorin in many decades, she was certain she was correct.

Kili looked up at her, clearly surprised.

"How –

"You and your brother have been awfully protective of this 'uncle'. It makes sense that he is someone of importance…and not merely for the affection you clearly hold for him." She reclined in the armchair, relaxing as much as she could force herself, "Thorin Oakenshield leads this quest, he is the heir of the last King under the Mountain…someone bound to have enemies…and loyal dwarves at his side willing to do anything to protect him."

"How is it you know of him?" Kili asked, not out of suspicion but of curiosity.

The dwarves of Ered Luin respected Thorin beyond measure. He had led them from the fires of Erebor, worked alongside them to build a new and prosperous life. And yet Kili had never fathomed that those beyond his own race spoke of him. It seemed bizarre that an elf would speak so confidently of a man Kili had thought up until only recently belonged solely to the dwarves of Ered Luin. Attaching the tales and great stories to the man who'd practically raised him, who had chased away the monsters Kili had feared were under his bed as a child, was difficult; something he was still working on.

"I have heard rumors," Míri said flatly, hoping the dwarf would believe her; "Nothing spoken openly mind you, only whispers." Her expression fell as a degree of honesty slipped out, "And I recall vividly the day Erebor fell…in all the years of my life I have few memories as horrific as seeing the aftermath of that beasts' rampage."

She made sure to emphasize 'aftermath', wary to place herself closer for fear he would suspect the truth.

Looking at Kili, she saw that his eyes were wide with disbelief. She suspected it was strange for him to hear someone other than a dwarf speak of what happened to Erebor, even vaguely.

"You saw it?" He finally asked.

She nodded.

"How old are you?" He asked in a flabbergasted, awed voice that made him sound incredibly young and naïve.

Míri laughed, a smile spreading across her lips with an ease she had not felt in hundreds of years. It happened so quickly, so automatically, that she was unable to restrain it. As much as her own reaction startled her, she found it strangely refreshing; both the freeing nature of it and the sheepish, boy-like quality the question entailed.

That Kili was now flushing a deep crimson, having realized how rude his bold words might seem, made her smile all the more bright.

"Perhaps it is different for dwarves, but my kin believe it rude to ask a lady her age, Master Dwarf." She said lightly, laughter clinging her to voice as she spoke.

Kili stammered as he hurried to apologize, far too mortified to catch the playful nature of her words.

"I-I-I am so sorry –

"Don't be," she said with a grin, "I should thank you; I have not laughed like that in a very long time." She saw that he didn't quite believe her and continued in a more serious tone, "Master Dwarf, I am not offended, truly."

Kili cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly in his seat, suddenly very uncomfortable under her gaze.

"Well…I'm sorry all the same."

Míri nodded, turning back to the fire, "To answer your question, I am rather young for an elf, only one thousand four hundred and sixty-four." She quickly glanced over to him, a hint of a smirk on her lips, "Keep that to yourself though, her age is not something a lady shares lightly."

Kili gave a short, nervous laugh, "Of course, my lady, on my honor."

Míri saw him return to fidgeting as he had before. He had been more confident speaking with her on the road, in fact she recalled vividly wondering if an end to his questions was possible. That confidence appeared to be wavering now.

"Does my being an elf trouble you so?" She inquired.

Kili quickly shook his head, "No, no, I –

"It clearly isn't the fact that I am a woman," she continued, "you spoke freely whilst we were on the road. In fact you would not shut up. But now that the tips of my ears have been revealed you blush and fidget like a clumsy maid."

He sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

After an awkward moment of silence in which she resisted the urge to demand he answer her, he lightly chuckled and sat back.

"I've never met an elf before." He said with a small shrug, "I've seen them before, from a distance, but I've never actually spoken to one."

She arched a brow, intrigued by his admission, "And your kin have told you are how vile we are, yes? How quick we are to betray our allies? How we hate dwarves and wish you all ill?"

"Do you?" Kili asked, "Hate us?"

Míriedis considered her answer for a moment, and then shook her head, "Some of my kind might harbor hatred for dwarves. I do not." She gave a short and sad laugh, "Do you think I'd join in on this suicide mission if I hated dwarves? Do you think I'd risk my life for your homeland if I wished you ill?"

"No." He said in a soft voice that the crackling of the fire would have drowned out if not for her heightened sense of hearing.

"And do you hate me?" She asked curtly, eyes fixed on the young dwarf.

Kili shook his head.

She let out a laboured, heavy breath and slumped back in the armchair.

"Are you all right?" Kili asked hesitantly, seeing that her eyes looked heavy and wondering if she was perhaps suddenly ill.

_Can elves even get sick, _he wondered to himself.

"I have spent the last few decades living alone in the woods, speaking very little as you might imagine," she confessed, "Westron is a bulky, awkward language; and I find speaking with dwarves to be very draining."

He smiled, "Well, let's hope Gandalf doesn't need your help convincing Thorin then."

She scoffed at the idea, "Forgive me if I doubt the ease in which your uncle will be swayed, Master Dwarf."

"Please, just Kili," He said with a smile, "And Thorin might take some convincing, but I can at least help mend things with those that are here." He stood, "Come, let's introduce you properly."

* * *

><p>Míriedis was not surprised when all conversation was brought to an immediate halt as she entered the dining room.<p>

In an attempt to lessen the degree to which they considered her a threat and hopefully foster something akin to trust, she had left all of her weapons in the living room. It had pained her to leave them behind, but if she was going to be so bold as to ask for their trust, she knew she was going to have to extend some to them. At least that was what she kept telling herself.

Dwalin regarded her with an uneasy look as he went about lighting his pipe. He clearly still had reservations about her presence, she gathered, though his anger had calmed enough that he was apparently no longer set on blindly striking her down.

It was a small blessing, but she was grateful for it nonetheless.

The dwarf whose name she had yet to learn had stopped preparing the table and smiled warmly at her. Fili had been helping the older dwarf and he too had stopped, shooting his brother a questioning look before offering Míri a curt nod and a small smile.

Bilbo was sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, his head cradled in his hands as he rocked in his seat.

She glanced to Gandalf, who stood smoking his pipe near the window, and quickly gathered that the wizard had at least filled the hobbit in on some of the details of their quest. Judging by his current sickly shade of white, she gathered Bilbo at least knew there was a dragon involved.

Eager to end the painful silence, Míriedis spoke.

"Kili suggested introductions without threats of death were in order," she said with a quick glance to the archer, "My name is Míriedis, though Míri is fine if you find it easier to pronounce. Despite what happened in the entry way, I am pleased to meet you." She gave a small bow.

To everyone's surprise, it was Dwalin who was the first to respond.

"Dwalin, son of Fundin," he gestured to the elder dwarf standing next to Fili, "and my brother, Balin."

Balin bowed, "At your service."

"I hope you know," Dwalin said sternly, "that Thorin is not going to be pleased when he gets here."

She nodded, "I don't doubt it. If he truly thinks I will be of no benefit to this quest; that I will not pull my own weight then I will take my leave."

"Of all of us, you are the only one who has been near Erebor since it fell to Smaug," Gandalf stated plainly, "You are a warrior with a thousand years of experience and you know the path we are set to walk better than most. You will be of benefit to this quest, _mellon nîn_, and I for one am not about to let Thorin ignore that."

"I appreciate your confidence, _Mithrandir_."

Balin stepped forward, "Gandalf told us that you are asking no compensation for your efforts."

She nodded, "That is correct. There is no treasure Erebor holds that I desire."

"We'll have to have that in writing, I suspect, for others to believe your words."

"That will not be a problem."

"Why are you offering your aid, then?" Dwalin asked, skepticism written across his face, "You risk death; surely you must know that."

_Better than most, _she thought sadly to herself.

But before she had a chance to respond, there was a knock at the door. It echoed throughout the halls, commanding and strong.

Gandalf looked to Dwalin.

"He's here."

* * *

><p>Kili made his way to the front door of the hobbit hole with Dwalin and Gandalf, leaving Míriedis in the dining room with his brother, Balin, and the hobbit.<p>

No one said anything, and Míriedis made no move to join them, but it was best her reveal be tempered with a great deal of caution. That Thorin would be livid was a given, what remained to be seen was whether or not Gandalf would be able to mediate the encounter.

Despite the anxiety he felt, Kili couldn't keep the grin from his lips.

He was looking forward to seeing his uncle, to catching up and hearing of his travels. Over the course of the last year he had seen so little of him; he'd been chasing rumors and whispers of Thrain, hoping beyond hope to find his father well. Their quest would be fraught with danger, and perhaps it was childish to find excitement in such a thing, but he longed to charge into battle at his uncle's side. Such a thing sounded worthy of the finest songs and he was eager to hear what Bofur came up with.

The wizard opened the door and offered a polite greeting before stepping aside to allow their newest arrival entrance.

Thorin looked worn and as he entered the house, Kili was startled by the fatigue etched upon his face. It wasn't something a stranger would pick up on of course, only those who knew him well; and a quick glance to Dwalin told him the old warrior had noticed it too.

The talks in Ered Luin had clearly not gone well.

"I thought you said this place would be easy to find," Thorin grumbled as he set about untying the laces of his cloak, "I nearly lost my way twice."

He glanced past Gandalf and gave a respectful nod to Dwalin, who returned the gesture. His grim demeanor softened some as he turned to Kili and offered him a small smile.

Kili couldn't help it, he beamed, even as Thorin handed him his cloak and sword. Whenever Thorin offered him anything, a bit of praise or acknowledgement, he latched on to it. There was no one he wanted to impress more and he knew this quest would provide him ample opportunities to do just that.

Thorin turned to Gandalf, "So where is this burglar I've hear so much about? And where are the others?" He looked to Kili, concern showing through in his eyes, "Your brother –

"Is here," Gandalf said calmly, "along with Balin and my aide, in the dining room."

Thorin scoffed and shook his head, "Yes, your aide. Tell me again, Gandalf, why this aide is required? You cannot have me believe you require the assistance of anyone."

Kili saw him turn to make for the dining room, clearly intent on greeting the others, and stepped forward to block his path.

"Thorin…wait, please."

He knew not what to say beyond that. How could he tell his uncle, a man who had a hundred reasons to hate elves, that the 'aide' of their wizard was just that?

At a loss, Kili looked to Gandalf.

His uncle's brow arched as confusion washed over him. He looked back to Dwalin and saw the discomfort in his old friend's face.

"You are all hiding something," he stated gruffly, turning back to Kili, "what, pray tell."

None, not even Gandalf, made to speak.

Thorin sighed heavily.

"Kili…"

"Your nephew had nothing to do with this, Thorin," Gandalf interjected, leaning heavily on his staff, "And before you fly into a rage, I will remind you that should you desire my help with this quest you must accept hers."

Thorin's eyes opened wide and he slowly turned to the wizard, glaring at him with a ferocity that would have made lesser men tremble with fear.

"_Her_?"

Gandalf nodded, "Her."

"A woman has no place on a quest such as this."

"She is a fine warrior and a skilled scout," Gandalf said with a surprising degree of calm, "She is very familiar with the path we are to take, particularly the regions surrounding Erebor that are most treacherous."

Their path would likely take them to Mirkwood; that Gandalf knew with almost a certainty. Even he would have trouble getting them out of a mess should they encounter those that dwelt in that dark forest. And while Míriedis would not likely have an easy time getting them out of an uncomfortable situation with the Mirkwood elves either, he hoped Thranduil would at least have cause to hear them out with her in their company.

Surely his own flesh-and-blood, his once precious daughter, would give the Elvenking reason to pause?

"The wizard's aide…" Dwalin began cautiously, "She asks for nothing, no treasure at all, in return. It is free aid, Thorin. Can we truly afford to turn it aside?"

"We cannot," Gandalf said with a nod, no hint of doubt in his voice, "not if we intend to actually succeed."

Thorin gave a heavy sigh. He was exhausted from his journey, having pushed himself to make it from Ered Luin to Hobbiton in record time and wounded by the decision his kin had made. None of the other clans would help them; the council meeting had made that abundantly clear. This quest was theirs alone.

As much as it pained him to admit, Dwalin was right.

"I will meet this _aide_," he finally conceded, "and determine for myself if she is capable of contributing to this quest. I will not tolerate a weak link, not where the future of my homeland is concerned."

* * *

><p>Míriedis heard the King under the Mountain approaching with his kin and Gandalf, just as she had heard their discussion in the entry way.<p>

He had been more reasonable then she expected, but she doubted how long that would last once he saw who, or rather what, she was.

"You seem worried," Fili observed with a small, uneasy grin, taking a seat next to her at the table as he worked on his second tankard of ale. "I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

Doubt made his voice waver only ever so slightly, though she caught it all the same.

Míriedis gave a small laugh, "Your faith is admirable, Fili. Though judging by how quickly you inhaled that first ale, forgive me if my doubts remain." She smirked, "And I'm rather fond of my head being on my shoulders, I am concerned meeting your uncle might threaten that."

"My uncle is gruff, yes," Fili admitted; his voice confident and proud, "He'll be shocked, and angry, but he won't strike you down. He wouldn't hurt anyone without reason. Not even an elf." He shook his head and shot her a serious glance, "He won't. That's not who he is."

"The lad is right," Balin said with a proud smile, "Thorin Oakenshield is a reasonable man."

The footsteps Míriedis had heard rounded the corner, entered the room and stopped suddenly. She whispered a quick but desperate plea to the Valar that she survived this encounter.

"What is the meaning of this?" Demanded a voice laced with a venomous anger.

Thorin Oakenshield himself, she thought.

As much as she worried about this moment, a part of her anticipated it. Last she had seen him he was wounded and terrified; fleeing the Erebor with the rest of his kin as the legacy of his people was consumed by dragon fire. She did not expect him to be the bright eyed boy she met under the mountain all those years ago, not after all he endured. But a part of her she could not contain hoped he remembered her.

Míriedis took a deep breath and stood.

Thorin stood flanked by Kili and Dwalin, his eyes fixed upon her in a glare that practically shot daggers at her. His hair was long and dark, flecked with only a hint of grey around his face and woven in his braids. His tunic was a worn royal blue and the mail he wore was expertly crafted, comprised of interlocking silver scales. His eyes, while worn from years of toil and hardship, were the same blue she remembered. The dark fuzz that had covered his chin as a boy had grown into a full but neatly trimmed beard and she wondered warmly to herself, recalling their first meeting, how proud he must have been when it filled in.

The cold anger in his features startled her most though. He was worn and weary, angry and bitter.

It saddened her greatly.

She gave a small bow and clasped her hand over her heart, saluting him, "_Mae govannen, _Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I'm so sorry for the cliff-hanger! I really wanted to get this posted before the end of the year as a treat and I hope you enjoy it! I'm sorry for how long the build up for this has taken too; I've been trying to establish some seemingly small details which will become very important later on. Next chapter we see if Thorin remembers her and if Gandalf and the others can convince him to bring her along ;) – Fallon.


	6. An Uneasy Alliance

*****Disclaimer:** I do not own any aspect of the marvellous world J.R.R. Tolkien created in 'The Hobbit' and 'the Lord of the Rings' or the film adaptations created by Peter Jackson. I am merely playing with the world they brought to life through book and film. I have tried to stay true to what they created. That being said, I have made changes to the world and its characters for the purposes of this story. Characters have been created specifically for this story. The new face you see in this story, Míriedis is mine.

This story will contain scenes of a mature nature; including but not limited to gore, violence, sex, and torture. Please consider yourselves warned.

*****A/N:** I apologize for the delay. Not only was I struggling with writing the moment when Thorin and Míriedis meet, but I had a bit of a scare in my personal life that distracted me from writing. I thank you all for your patience!

I hope you enjoy what I've come up with! Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated! Thank you kindly for reading! – Fallon.

**~Five~**

She gave a small bow and clasped her hand over her heart, saluting him, "_Mae govannen, _Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror."

Eyes wide and jaw clenched tight as a barely contained rage tore through him, Thorin turned to Gandalf. No words were necessary; the demand for an explanation was evident in the cold, lethal glare he shot the wizard.

"She is offering her aid free of any expectation of compensation, Thorin." Gandalf said unwaveringly, "Surely you can see the wisdom in accepting her offer?"

"_Her_ people did nothing as mine burned!" He hissed, his voice laced with a hatred that had brewed for over a hundred years, "The Elvenking curled tail and did nothing as Erebor was obliterated and hundreds perished!" He pointed to Míriedis, "Her blades will be in our backs the moment we walk out this door!"

"She's not like that, uncle," Kili said cautiously, "When Fili and I met her on the road she could have cut us down, but she didn't. She was courteous and –

"You led the she-elf here!" Thorin practically shouted. "Does the importance of our quest mean nothing to you?"

Fili stepped forward, hoping to reason with his uncle and spare his brother the full onslaught of Thorin's rage, "We couldn't just cut her down, Thorin. What would you have had us do?"

Míriedis stepped forward, willing to speak if only to speed up the process and perhaps save the brothers from the hole they were digging themselves into.

There was also a curiosity that even she could not deny. He hadn't truly looked at her, merely reacted to her heritage. Perhaps he would recognize her if he actually _looked_. It was a foolish hope, as his anger toward her people was obvious but if he remembered her, if he saw past the fog of his hate, there might yet be hope for him.

"You cannot afford to turn down my aid, Thorin Oakenshield." She said evenly, "Or do you have a mighty army of dwarves headed this way we do not yet know of."

Thorin turned slowly back to her.

"They refuse to act, do they not?" She continued when he said nothing, "The dwarves of Ered Luin? Without the King's Jewel they will not follow you, even after all you've done for them."

"Shut your mouth, she-elf." He demanded coldly.

"How do you know of the meeting in Ered Luin?" Balin interjected, speaking with no degree of animosity but rather of intrigue.

"This quest means more to dwarves than its potential to see its prince crowned king," Míriedis explained, "I would be surprised if you did not inform the other great dwarf families of your intentions."

"And the King's Jewel?" Thorin prompted, "How come you by its knowledge?"

"Was it supposed to be a secret?" She said with a small laugh, "Regardless, I am old enough to recall a time when the Mountain prospered and all talk of dragons was dismissed as paranoid ramblings, when the Arkenstone was in rightful hands."

Míriedis locked eyes with the stubborn dwarf, not wavering as so many had under the full weight of his gaze.

_Remember, you old fool, _she thought wishfully to herself.

It was Kili who interrupted the tense stand-off.

"You speak as if you have been to Erebor, as if you have seen its halls for yourself?"

Míriedis looked to Gandalf, but felt the eyes of the dwarves upon her, all eagerly awaiting her answer.

She swallowed hard, hesitant to reveal what brought had brought her pain and nightmares for so long.

"Tell them." Gandalf said simply, though his eyes warned her to tread with caution.

She nodded. A portion of the truth then, she decided; if only to lessen their suspicion of her.

"I trust you have determined by now that I hail from Mirkwood," she began, "I grew up under the shadow of the mountain and I remember when dwarves and not a vile dragon dwelt under the stone." She looked to Kili, "And yes, I have seen its halls."

"How?" Fili managed to stammer out, looking to his uncle for answers but finding in him the same surprise he felt himself.

"There was a time when elves were welcome in your halls," she said with a heavy heart, "When we were allies. I wish to stand with your people as allies once more. And should I get to kill orcs in the process, and perhaps slay Smaug himself; then I am all the more eager to be here."

Thorin looked away from her, unsure what to make of her words. He recalled the time she spoke of, a time of prosperity under the mountain, when the elves were their sworn allies.

He was young, just a boy, when he had seen his grandfather welcome elves into the halls of Erebor. Only handful of years before Smaug came, the Elvenking had come to the mountain with a procession of his guards and nobles to speak with Thror. It had been the first time he had seen one of the immortal race and in his youthful ignorance; he had been fascinated by them, in utter awe of their effortless grace.

… _One of the Ainur…_

A sudden, bizarre feeling overcame him and his gaze shot to Míriedis. He felt as if he had seen her before but the more he tried to discern where, a dull ache flared in his head and chest.

_I'm glad to have met you…._

The echoes reverberating in his mind quieted some as the memory of the elves' betrayal settled in. She was an elf of Mirkwood; even if she had not been there the day Erebor burned she was just as responsible for the Elvenking's betrayal, just as prone to betrayal.

A cold anger returned to his eyes as the feeling passed and reason returned to him.

Allowing her to join them would mean spitting on the graves of those they lost the day Smaug laid waste to their homeland. Even _if_ he could overlook that, she was a risk he was not willing to take – not when the lives of his kin were at stake.

He could not do that, no matter their need of aid.

Balin moved to his side, having noted the resolved look in Thorin's eye.

"Thorin," he began softly, "Reconsider this."

"No."

"Thorin –

"You will accept her as a member of this company, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf boomed, his voice causing everyone to jump where the stood, "If you desire my help on this quest, that is." He looked to Míriedis and smiled, "If there is to be no Míriedis, then there is no Gandalf the Grey."

As much as she appreciated his sentiment, Míriedis immediately protested his ultimatum.

"That is not wise, Gandalf," she spoke solemnly, "They need you."

"And they need you, whether or not they'll admit it, that is," Gandalf said with a sharp glance to Thorin, "Our path will likely take us through Mirkwood and if it does, you will have the best chance of talking them out of imprisoning us. The elves of Mirkwood are notoriously reclusive and slow to trust, and you still have friends there."

She knew of whom he was speaking – her brothers.

Still, she was not confident that they would help her if needed. If her father had told them the truth of her actions the day Erebor fell, they likely hated her.

"It is not so simple, Gandalf, and you know it," she said with a heavy sigh, "I've not step foot in Mirkwood in more time than I care to think of. I am not welcome there any more than the dwarves."

"And why is that?" Thorin spat, "Why would one of their own not be welcomed?"

She didn't see any point of lying. It was a small detail, not enough to reveal her full involvement in the events that transpired that day.

"I was exiled."

Her admission startled him. He had never heard of such a thing occurring in the Woodland Realm, not that he had ever paid much mind to any news coming out of the forest. It did not surprise him that the Elvenking was be capable of casting out one of his kin, rather he was curious to learn what crime could warrant such a punishment.

"What for?" Kili asked; his brow furrowed in confusion and his features rather sad.

"I was rather vocal regarding my…disgust of the Elvenking," she felt the eyes of all the dwarves on her but she was lost in memory and her words spilled from her lips, "I was with him when the scouts brought him word of the chaos laid upon your mountain. I urged him to act, I begged and when he refused I called him a coward, I accused him of killing your people as surely as Smaug himself was."

Her fists were clenched so tightly at her sides her knuckles had gone white and her nails had begun to dig into the skin of her palms, but she hardly noticed.

"He had me banished…I've not seen my homeland in a hundred and seventy years."

Kili hung his head. The sadness and longing in the elf's voice was palpable. He could not bear to look her in the eye and feel the full extent of her sorrow. He looked to Fili from the corner of his eye and saw in him the same discomfort. After hearing of her exile, of how her own kin turned on her, they felt horrible for harboring lingering doubts about her.

Balin sighed, visibly shaken by the elf's admission, "We have that in common, lass."

"Our exile is nothing like hers!" Thorin snapped, "Her words did not save our people! And how do we know she speaks the truth –

"She does, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf said sharply, as if scolding a child, "I found her on the outskirts of Mirkwood. I spoke with the Elvenking on her behalf and he vehemently refused to allow her to return."

Gandalf looked to Míriedis and caught a glimpse of the despair in her eyes. It darkened her blue eyes, and made her look as if her mind was a million miles away.

Disconnected, he decided, was the best way to describe that look.

It was a look that terrified him, for he feared it signalled the onset of what would bring about her fading.

A wasting; brought about by grief and heart ache.

The passage of time did nothing to soften her pain. Her own father had refused to allow her to come home, even as she lay clinging to life in the healing houses of Lórien.

He wished then that he had urged her to leave for Valinor years ago.

It was weakness on his part, he surmised.

He had only ever witnessed a single wasting, as nearly all who felt its approach departed Middle Earth, and he had no desire to watch Míriedis's.

Míriedis broke the strange trance that had fallen over her and pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes closed as if to stave off a headache.

Gandalf noticed Kili looking at her with particular concern.

"_Gandalf, I tire of this. Make him see sense." _Míriedis muttered under her breath in her native tongue, far too exhausted to bother forming the clumsy words of Westron.

Thorin looked to Gandalf.

"She hasn't spoken a word of the common tongue to anyone in nearly a hundred years," he explained calmly, "And she grows tired of speaking in circles. She's asking me to make you see sense."

"Sense?" Thorin fumed, turning quickly on his heels to send a scathing glare at his nephews, "What sense was it that possessed you to allow her to accompany you here? She could have killed you both!"

Before either dwarf could respond Míriedis's interjected with a fierce scowl, the stubborn dwarf's comment striking a nerve with her.

"I am not a killer," Míriedis hissed, more offended by his words than she could possibly say, even in elven, "I have not harmed you or your kin and yet you do not even have the courtesy to hear my terms. I am here to kill a dragon, not dwarves."

She held his gaze, intent on making him see she was not backing down.

Thorin was silent, much to her surprise, and he seemed to actually be thinking about what she said. Deep down, she suspected he was not entirely unreasonable. Years of hurt and loss had built up an anger inside of him that had shown itself to be poisonous. Her people had betrayed his and he was right to be angry, she only wished he could see she was not like them.

She felt compelled to make him see just that, if only to appease the lingering memory of the naïve little dwarfling she had met in the halls of Erebor when she was still the Princess of the Woodland Realm.

Míriedis calmed herself before continuing.

"I am not like the Elvenking, Thorin Oakenshield." She said in a cool, serene tone, "I ask nothing in compensation for my aid. And if, at any point during this quest, you feel I am not pulling my weight or that I am jeopardizing your kin, you have only to say the word and I will leave."

Thorin hesitated, allowing a silence to fill the room.

She tried to read him, to get a sense of which way he was leaning, but his façade concealed everything as he was lost in thought.

_A desperate plea echoed over the hilltops, wafting up with the thick scent of burning flesh…_ _a single dwarf amidst the chaos standing tall, calling to her and her people for aid…_

He finally looked up to her.

They were far from the singed fields that laid outside the gates of Erebor, but when she looked at him she saw him as she did then – covered in soot and blood, crying out to her for help. It was a ghost of a memory, dwelling just beneath the surface of the man who was now Thorin Oakenshield.

"Write up a contract, Balin," he said in a hoarse, cracking voice.

As the elder dwarf gathered his parchment and quill, Thorin turned to Míriedis.

"And I promise you, she-elf, should you go back on your word, fail to leave if I so command, or endanger any dwarf on this quest I will kill you."

* * *

><p>The remainder of the company arrived not long after Míriedis had signed Thorin's contract.<p>

They were understandably startled to see an elf siting at the table, but all had the courtesy to greet her warmly – after Thorin gave them a reassuring nod.

They set about preparing dinner, working together to cover the table with the contents of Bilbo's pantry.

She wasn't sure she was going to be able to keep their names straight there was so many of them.

Luckily, she had help.

Kili and Fili sat on opposite sides of her, whispering who was who as the hobbit hole became rather chaotic.

"Oin and Gloin are brothers," Fili explained, pointing to each as he spoke, "Gloin invested in the quest and Oin is our healer."

"Though Oin can't hear worth a damn," Kili said with a chuckle.

"Hence the…trumpet, is it?" Míriedis asked as she watched the two brothers squabble over a large block of cheese. She smiled as Oin eventually triumphed and began playfully smacking his brother with his prize before inhaling it in a single breath.

Bilbo looked practically mortified as he paced the room; though the dwarves took no notice.

"He's crafty, and thankfully for us you don't need to hear in order to mend wounds." Fili said with a smile.

Kili pointed to a group of his kin, who were working together to carry a rather large cask of ale out of Bilbo's pantry.

"Then there's Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur."

Her eyes opened wide as she noted something odd affixed to one of their heads, "Is that a…"

"Orc axe," Fili finished for her, "yes, rather hard to miss I suppose. That's Bifur."

"He's completely fine," Kili said with a smirk, thoroughly enjoying the shocked expression on her face, "Course he can only speak in Khuzdul now."

"Bofur and Bombur are brothers," Fili continued, "Bifur is their cousin. Bofur cooks, Bombur eats and Bifur likes to kill orcs."

"I imagine he'd hold a grudge after one left an axe in his forehead." Míriedis said with a smile.

Fili laughed, "Yes, well, that's one way of putting it."

Bofur called out to his brother, capturing everyone's attention as he stood and tossed an egg through the air. Bombur opened his mouth and caught the egg, chomping down on it as cheers erupted all along the table.

Míriedis was startled at first. Dining with dwarves was nothing like dining with her kin. Everything was much more…lively with the stouter folk. Their joy was refreshing to be around though, and she smiled and clapped as Bombur raised his hands in the air.

Kili was laughing, but caught glimpse of Míriedis from the corner of his eye, clapping and smiling, and paused. He never thought one of her kind would appreciate the boisterous ways of the dwarves, but she seemed to be enjoying herself.

He took a moment to merely look at her.

She was pretty, with a dusting of freckles on the apples of her cheeks and full lips. He had found her intimidating before, when they'd spoken by the fire, not that he would ever admit it. But it was harder to see her as that now, with a smile on her lips and a glimmer in her eyes. She was not what he expected an elf to be.

Míriedis felt the young archer's gaze linger on her and she looked at him, catching him staring at her with a soft, almost contented smile on his lips.

Kili flushed red and quickly looked away from her.

He cleared his throat.

"And lastly there's that lot," he said eagerly, hoping to redirect the elf's attention from the redness of his face. He pointed to each as he said their names, "Dori, Ori, and Nori."

Before he could tell her more about the three brothers, Thorin hollered for everyone to gather around the table. The dwarves quickly did as he asked, making way for each other as they filed into the small room. Each made sure their tankard was topped off, and then looked to Thorin.

Míriedis spotted Bilbo standing near Gandalf, looking overwhelmed and near fainting. He was anxiously gnawing at his finger nails and she heard him mutter under his breath about stains in the dining room rug.

The dining room was in quite the state, with towering stacks of plates leaning precariously here and there. She spotted a length of sausage links hanging from the chandelier and more than one head of lettuce was being kicked about under the table. There were foot prints in mustard leading out of the room and down the hall, complimenting the mud smears very nicely.

Eating, for dwarves it seemed, was an event.

Thorin spread out a small, tattered square of parchment upon one of the few clean spots on the table and those nearest him leaned in.

"We will take the east road as far as Buckland, but beyond that we will stay off the main roads and away from any villages we might pass. I do not want to attract unwelcomed attention."

Gandalf nodded, "Agreed. Our quest will be difficult enough without alerting spies to our purpose. We make for the Misty Mountains and then Mirkwood."

Thorin crossed his arms and grudgingly looked to Míriedis, "You say you can get us through that damned forest?"

"If need be, yes," she said with a sigh, "I know…safe paths we might take. But the forest is sick and harbors dangers greater than angry elves. I would not take that path unless it there was no other way."

That seemed to placate him, as he turned his focus back to the map.

"How to get into Erebor is the real question."

"The front gates were sealed by Smaug when the city fell," Balin said sadly, "there is no other way I know of."

"There is a way," Gandalf said and with a flick of his wrist he produced a key etched with dwarven runes.

Thorin looked as though he'd seen a ghost.

"How come you by this?"

"It was given to be by Thrain, your father, for safe keeping," he offered it to Thorin; "It is yours now."

* * *

><p>Míriedis stood in the doorway watching as the dwarves gathered around the fire, around Thorin.<p>

Gandalf was speaking with Bilbo in the other room, trying to calm the hobbit after his faint and convince him to sign on with them.

By the sounds of it, Gandalf was not having much success.

The dining room was clean, each dwarf having worked hard to ensure nothing was out of place and the clean dishes were neatly stacked near the wash basin. The only evidence of their feast was the barren pantry they had plundered. They had moved into the living room and a solemn air now hung about them.

Thorin lit his pipe, took a long and savoring breath of it, and gazed into the fire. To her surprise, he began to sing.

"_Far over the misty mountains cold,  
>to dungeons deep and caverns old,<br>we must away, ere break of day  
>to find our long forgotten gold,<em>

The pain he felt echoed in every word. She suddenly felt like she was witnessing something very private and sacred.

The others joined in.

_The pines were roaring on the height,  
>the winds were moaning in the night,<br>the fire was red; its flaming spread  
>the trees like torches blazed with light."<em>

As they sang, Míriedis could see it. The heat from the hearth that kissed her skin made her recall the suffocating heat of that day and she shivered.

She looked at them, all of them; from Thorin to Dwalin, and Ori to Oin.

Her gaze fell upon Thorin's nephews.

Fili and Kili sat side by side, neither singing.

They both stared sadly into the fire.

Many times in her exile she had missed her homeland. The winding rivers that cut through the earth, the gnarled trees older than her, and the noble elks that roamed the fields were she played as a girl.

She missed her brothers.

She even missed her father.

An unseen blade twisted in her chest, burying itself deep in her heart.

She wanted to go home, wanted to see them all again, but she knew that was not to be.

If they did end up going through Mirkwood, it would not be the same. She was unwanted, an exile. She could not go back home, not truly.

She hoped that at the very least the dwarves could.


End file.
